Read our current issue, below. Read Light‘s poems of the week
by Orel Protopopescu
Oh I come from Alabama
with some schoolgirls on each knee…
Will you be my own sweet mama?
You look young enough for me.
McConnell wants to press reset,
but I would sooner die…
And even in my grave, still wet,
I’ll hold my pistol high!
No pajamas! This member must be free…
to screw up Alabama for religious liberty.
by Barbara Loots
“Do you still believe that the intentional
failure to remember can constitute a
criminal act?”—Hakeem Jeffries,
as reported from the hearing
regarding Jeff Sessions’ testimony
in previous inquiring committees.
I did not intentionally fail to remember.
I did not remember to accidentally forget.
You cannot convict me of possibly telling the truth.
I have not remembered the things I’ve forgotten just yet.
I do not believe what I said when I didn’t remember.
I do not believe that forgetfulness should be a crime.
Believe me, I already feel unintentionally sorry
For what I might honestly fail to remember next time.
by Chris O’Carroll
On the one hand,
We can all understand
There’s an urge men feel deep in the bone,
But the general rule
When we polish the tool
Is that this game is best played alone.
At a party for two,
There are more than a few
Other options for touching and viewing;
When the party’s just me,
No one else needs to see
The ridiculous improv I’m doing.
I don’t care to invite
You to take in the sight
While I’m focused on auto-romancing.
It’s one guy’s private show
When I reach for, you know.
I don’t even look cool when I’m dancing.
by Julia Griffin
Demoralizing all the earth,
Two Presidents of equal worth,
In one apocalyptic spat,
Discharged the weapons “Old” and “Fat.”
The USA was deeply stung,
For Tweedledump was ever young,
A youth, a boy, a little kid,
As proved by all he said and did;
Pyongyang felt similar chagrin,
As Tweedledim was wafer-thin—
A living proof, in fact, of this
A line no wider than a thong
May still be infinitely long.
The military catalogue
Had previously stopped at “dog,”
“Fraud,” “international pariah,”
And that eternal favorite “liar”;
Now Fox could only praise and pray;
Likewise the networks of NK.
So thank the (former) KGB,
Which coaxed both heroes to agree
(Since neither could refrain from speech)
That they should have one planet each,
Identical in shape and size,
Years distant, as the rocket flies,
To do with as they reckoned fit;
And no one else need live on it.
by Ed Shacklee
Who will steer the cart?
The holes are small; the greens, long.
Playing golf is hard.
When you are a star
they let you do anything.
Not women: voters.
My name, in gilt, stamped
on building after building
as dogs piss on trees.
This house is a dump.
Why am I here—it was built
for common people.
Now that I am king,
my heels are dogged by a fool.
Look, there: that shadow.
The day I was crowned
I grew angry at the sound
of one hand clapping.
by Mae Scanlan
Da Vinci’s painting, “Savior of the World,”
On Wednesday last, at auction, was unfurled.
It fetched four hundred fifty million bucks,
And sold in less than twenty minutes. Shucks,
When I allow that figure to get tossed
Inside my brain, it’s somewhat like the cost
When Trump and some suave Middle Eastern shah go
To spend a bit of time at Mar-a-Lago.